


XII

by Ixxen



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, absolute filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10696992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ixxen/pseuds/Ixxen
Summary: Iwai sneers, licks the pad of a finger and flips a couple pages. But his eyes have skimmed the same page no less than three times now to no avail. A million yen couldn't have told you what any of it said, never-mind what it meant. Because it wasn't Akira who'd just walked in. It was the other one. The Phantom. Shadow. Joker.Iwai/Akira





	XII

Iwai glances up, distaste obvious, before turning back to the rumpled magazine sitting on his lap.

“Thought I told you to stop coming here.” He says, turning a page. The store could have been empty for all the interest he showed. In the background, the AC is running hard, combating the summer heat and thoroughly icing the back of his legs. He's skimmed through three more pages – though the content therein is getting a little hard to focus on – before his little shadow finally speaks.

“You know I can't do that,” Joker says. “We made a deal. You remember.”

Iwai sneers, licks the pad of a finger and flips a couple pages. But his eyes have skimmed the same page no less than three times now to no avail. A million yen couldn't have told you what any of it said, never-mind what it meant. Because it wasn't _Akira_ who'd just walked in. It was the other one. The Phantom. Shadow. _Joker._

He'd known for a while. No high school kid _he'd_ ever known could express quite the same level of interest in his particular range of wares. Model enthusiast his _ass_. No, Akira Kurusu was normal by no means, and his eye for specialty weapons and upgrades was no different. Still, he paid damn well – up front, even – and remained a constant in Iwai's otherwise unpredictable life. Had helped him, too. His family. His heart.

Needless to say, time has only brought them closer. Enough so that Joker takes his silence in stride, so quiet in his steps that Iwai doesn't even know he's there until there's a hand on his counter and a body in his reading light.

“ _Mune_.”

Dread runs down his spine. Or maybe it's anticipation. _Arousal._ Iwai sighs, flips the magazine off his lap and leans back in his chair. Joker regards him coolly, eyes dark. Mouth drawn. It's a look he's seen a time or two before.

Annoyance.

 _Frustration_.

When he's like this, negotiation becomes impossible. And it's not the guns beneath _tap-tap-tapping_ fingers on the glass he's interested in. Iwai shifts the sucker in his mouth to the opposite side, watches Joker's eyes trail the movement, and _grins_. _Mhm_.

“Alright, alright,” he tips his hat back, standing, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Lock up, would you? Last thing I need is someone wanderin' in.”

He's hardly through the backroom door when Joker is upon him. Hands shove him from behind, crushing them both against the wall. Boxes of pellets and glue teeter, fall, and cascade across the floor. On a normal working day he'd have scolded the kid. But not today, not when he's in _this_ kind of mood. His breath is hot in Iwai's ear, tongue roaming the outer shell a precursor to the teeth that prey upon him next. Gun-worn fingers twitch in reflex, but it's become quite clear where the night is going. There's no point fighting, and even if he wanted to...

This, too, was _necessary business_. For the both of them.

Fingers hike his coat up to dip beneath his shirt, caressing hard-fought abs and tangling in the thick cant of hair that dips below a suddenly tight waistband. Iwai jerks, grinding into the body behind him. Joker is already hard, probably _has_ been for a while now. He reaches a hand back around to grasp the jut of a hip, pulling him close, flush, and grins like a madman when Joker slaps his curious hands away.

“Not in a particularly considerate mood tonight, are you?” Iwai doesn't really care. He twists in Joker's arms and grasps the kid's collar, bringing him close in a rush of clenched teeth and furrowed brows. Their kiss is more a battle than an embrace, Joker desperately trying to pin him down. Iwai coaxes him with an experienced sweep of tongue, then bites him, _hard_. Joker's eyes are all the darker when they meet next, blacker than night, like a shark on prey, and Iwai hardly has a second to catch his breath before the boy's got him pinned to the closest chair. They slide a few feet with the effort of it, slamming into a side counter that. A few models he'd been working on go flying – he'll be taking that out on Akira's wallet, or perhaps his ass … - but it's getting harder and harder to keep any semblance of cohesive thought on punishments going. Something he'd have typically bent the boy over for is now no more than a means to an end, and boy, does he wanna get there.

Joker fingers the lapel of his uniform, tie drawing a menacing red line as he pulls it free. Iwai doesn't even wait for him to ask, just leans back and let's the boy lash his hands together. His legs are left free, open and inviting, serving a suitable resting place. Joker takes full advantage. He makes himself comfortable and grinds down on Iwai's cock, all too pleased with his work.

“Awfully eager today,” He muses. He's almost impressed with how quickly he goes from half-cocked to full-blown, erection straining against the delicious arch of Joker's ass. The boy rises, falls, hands gripping Iwai's shoulders so tight they _ache_. It's a mock impression of what he intends to do, a fact made clear by the anticipation currently tenting his pants. Joker pries a hand free to palm himself, eyes firmly on Iwai's own, and he swears in that moment the kid can damn near see right into his soul. Those goddamn prying eyes aren't Akira's. Not Joker's. They belong to the Devil himself, shining with a lust so thick Iwai can hardly bear their weight before looking away. He squeezes his legs together, so hard it hurts, and feels the timid slide of pre-cum running down the curve of his tight, hot sac. If he'd been ten years younger he'd be sitting in a mess right now he thinks, but then Joker's hand is on _him_ instead, kneading so insistently he half wonders if that _isn't_ his aim.

“Kid,” he grits out, “if you don't get those fucking pants off...”

Iwai doesn't finish the threat. Doesn't _have_ to. The button on his pants snaps under deft fingers; the slow, languid slide of a zipper obnoxiously loud in his pounding ears. Iwai can only watch as his cock springs free, so stiff it _hurts,_ a pillar of shame that makes it impossible to hide just how much he's liking today's sudden turn of events. He's completely at Joker's mercy, hands balled tight and compliant behind his back, but he knows, _knows_ the kid won't leave him waiting... He wouldn't. Couldn't.

Those eyes are on him again, so heavy he literally _feels their weight_ as Joker coaxes _his_ zipper open. His pants are on the floor in seconds, boxers clinging to him despite the chill of the room. Irregardless, his pretty little cock slips eagerly through the slit in his shorts, unabashed. These he disposes of too, leaving him bare and all too fucking _inviting_ before a man who has to remind himself to _swallow_ at the sight.

 _Careful, Mune..._ he manages one of those shit-eating grins, eyebrow raised in a defiant brevity that doesn't reach his eyes. Joker's gaze is white-hot, scalding, but his hands are sure and strong when again they light upon Iwai's shoulders. The kid lowers his body down, sinking without further question to bury the hatchet.

Iwai grunts, head lolling back as Joker eases himself down, swallowing the head, shaft, and plump girth of cock without so much as an _inkling_ of discomfort. Iwai can't help but wonder if the kid didn't come prepared, and the image of Joker – though more likely _Akira_ – fingering himself in the back alley has his eyes rolling back in his head so fast he nearly faints.

But Joker doesn't stop until his pert little ass is flush with Iwai's shaking thighs, the hungry cleft of his hole stretched taut and wide around the man's throbbing cock. Iwai wants to thrust up into him til the kid can no longer hold that infuriatingly _even_ demeanor, but he knows better. Knows that it's not his call tonight, and that the slightest infraction will end in a twelve-hour stretch of chair time and an all-too apologetic Akira come morning.

All the same...

Joker rises and falls without warning, eyes falling – thank god, thank _God –_ closed in some semblance of self-enjoyment. Without those piercing orbs on his own Iwai is left a little braver, enough so that he cants his hips with an appreciative moan, matching pace and falling in tow. Nails dig into the deep trenches of his collarbone, clinging, _warning_ , but Joker's mouth has fallen open and Iwai knows that – he hasn't won by any means, but – he's safe. Safe to give into a little _reckless indulgence._ Right now. Right here. It's just the two of them, a couple of bodies finding solace in an otherwise world. And whether it's Joker, Akira, or _both_ that walk through that swinging glass door, the end result is almost always will always be the same. Iwai couldn't – wouldn't – turn them away.

They work well together. In blood, sex, and business. Enough so that when, for but a moment, Joker opens his eyes and it's _Akira_ gazing down on him, Iwai has the sense to shoot him a comforting grin and put a little extra _oomph_ into it.

“Holy _shit -”_ is all the kid manages before the mask is back. The absolute, manic glee in Joker's eyes goads Iwai on as he fucks up into him. He doesn't care that there's angry half-moons down his back or an impending headache from the _wailing_ in his ears. All that matters is the way Joker's body squeezes, clenches, and shudders on his rod. Iwai would have given anything to wrap his fingers, mouth, _tongue_ , around it, buthis hands were literally tied, clenching uselessly. Gods, how he ached to grasp the weeping, purpled head of that pretty pink cock.

“Mm,” Joker gasps, bites his lip, “you want it, don't you? Wish you could stroke me off? Lap up my cum like the depraved old man you are?”

Iwai grunts, stabs deep in retort, and hisses when Joker pauses mid-way. He grinds down painfully, _clenches_ , and fucking grins.

“I'd tell you off, but you're too goddamn precious like this.” Joker laughs, pries his claws from Iwai's shoulder and – Gods _damn_ him – winks. The literal incantation of lascivious. His lashes are too mesmerizing for their own good, the curve of his mouth too sweet. Iwai can't look away as that pink kitten tongue darts out to taste, test, _suckle_ , the joint of one, two, three fingers. There's a laugh ringing in his ears but Iwai is too far gone to care, hypnotized by that beautiful hand as it sashays down the long, pale column of Joker's throat. It stops to tweak a pert, puffy nipple. It would be too much to say that the kid doesn't feel his cock twitch inside him at the sight, Iwai's mouth suddenly very, very dry. Down it travels, caressing a quivering, soft navel. Twisting in fine, raven hair. Finally, when Iwai thinks he's entered some hysterical, unending circle of hell, it reaches its destination and -

“Don't you dare fuckin' stop.”

It's out of his mouth before Joker can so much as _begin_ to tease him, and the titter in the laugh he leases is all the tell Iwai needs. The little shit would torture him to the end, but _oh -_

He didn't care anymore. Didn't even _remember_ what he'd been talking about as he watched the kid grip, twist, _stroke,_ and moan so loud static shuddered in his ears. His cock pulsed in time to Joker's strokes, steely gray eyes fixated on every motion. On the way a pretty, opalescent drop blossomed, quivered, and crept down scarred and capable fingers. Iwai wanted to lick it up, savor the taste on his tongue and maybe, _maybe_ even force it on him. Make him taste his own desperation, help him understand just what it was he did to the man.

Joker's head lolled back, wavy curls bouncing as he milked Iwai for every last ounce he had in him. His rhythm was all out of tempo now, lost somewhere in the chase as the kid steadily climbed his way to orgasm. It was plain on his face, in the way his eyes rolled towards the ceiling. The lazy smile, the way his lips curled around – _yes, YES_ Iwai, _**yes –**_ a singular thought.

Iwai's hands twisted in their binding, his legs, shoulders, _neck_ , aching with the incessant position. He bit his lip, tried to force his eyes open to _watch_ , but the kid felt too damn good. Too much, too fast. With what little he had left, Iwai fucked his way as deep as he could, determined to _mark_ him if nothing else, and absolutely coated Joker's insides with his cum. His sac drew up with the effort of it, drank dry by the greedy little minx who still, _still_ rose and fell, taking Iwai for all his worth. The man sucked in a fresh breath and felt the life come back into him, ears ringing, mouth dry and speechless as Joker let out a strangled, exemplary cry. He gasped and panted as he soiled the front of Iwai's shirt, hand and body alike trembling as he came back down.

They sat like that a moment, catching their breath. The AC in the background hummed on, unperturbed by what transgressed. It didn't have thick ropes of cum staining the front of its shirt. Didn't have the wet slide of cum down its thighs as a softened cock slipped from inside. Akira would be the one dealing with that tomorrow. And it was him, not Joker, that looked down on Iwai now. A sudden, almost shy look becoming him. He reached unconsciously to push up glasses that were folded and away in an academy bag behind the front counter.

“Here,” Iwai said gently, shifting, “let me up, I'll get you clean.”

Akira blinked, leaned forward and undid the knot he'd tied. It was loose in his hand, would have been _easy_ to break free from, but...

“You alright...?”

Iwai was close. Breath sweet. Mouth soft. Akira found himself lost in steel orbs before relenting. He pressed his mouth against Iwai's own, finding it pliant. Agreeable.

He pulled away with the ghost of cherry and blue raspberry on his tongue. The flavors of the day.

“I still can't find a flavor half as sweet as you.” Iwai whispered, stealing another kiss. “Or one as sour as _him_.”

Akira smiled. Joker grinned.

“Maybe we can help,” they said, leaning in to snatch one of their own. It was a dark promise. Another _deadly_ deal.

But they'd made it this far. Iwai figured he could probably live with that.

“Be my guest,” he crooned, wrapping strong arms around him. “But for now...”

Before either could complain, Iwai had the kid in a heap on the ground. Jaw set, eyes mischievous, he leaned in with a dark promise of his own.

“ _My_ turn.”


End file.
